


The Shortest Distance

by sdwolfpup



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Implied Fraser/Vecchio, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: As though a mother didn't know her own son.





	The Shortest Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to pipsqueaky for beta'ing this over for me.

The first thing Lia Vecchio thought when she was introduced to Benton Fraser was that the only people Raymond had ever brought home to dinner were the ones he ended up falling in love with. 

The second thing she thought was that Benton stood very straight, and he made a sharp line in a house full of curves. Next to her son-in-law's round belly and slouched shoulders, the slope of the flower vases and the softness of the children, Constable Fraser soared. He reminded her of a skyscraper, the way she'd been awed and scared of them when she first immigrated here. But she hadn't let that stop her from welcoming him to the dinner table and feeding him like she would any guest. Lia was proud of her home and her cooking and the Canadian seemed politely interested in both. They didn't stay long enough for her to get a good feel for Benton, but the way her son ran out of the house with him on a case, engaged in a way he hadn't been in years, Lia knew something had changed for Raymond.

So when, early one morning, she met Raymond sneaking in through the front door, embarrassment and shame written all over his face, she was not surprised. Disappointed and scared, worried and even a little pleased to have been right all along. But there was no shock. No feeling like her mother's day-old ravioli was sitting heavy in her stomach. Just the surety of knowing, and the guilt of not being able to tell him that she didn't care, when it was so clear he thought she did. It wasn't her own disapproval that held her back, but God's.

As though a mother didn't know her own son. Her daughters were better at hiding their feelings, at not letting her in even while they pretended to ask her advice. But Raymond was all emotion, as easy for a mother to read as a recipe. She'd known when he'd broken the vase her sister had given her; she'd known when he did badly in school – and when he did well but was trying to hide it. She'd known when he loved Angela before he did, and she'd known when it was going to fail long before he did. And she knew that Benton Fraser was not just a best friend. Not to Raymond. Even if her son hadn't realized it until after nearly two years of risking his life and spending most of his free time with the man.

Ray stuttered a greeting when they ran into each other, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. He smelled of soap and cheap shampoo. Lia grabbed his hand and held him before he could bolt away. Though she knew where he'd really been, she said "Did you just get off work? You look hungry. I will make you breakfast."

"Ma, no," Ray tugged gently in her grasp but she refused to let him go without a fight. "I ate. I'm full."

"You're thin like one of Antonio's pitiful cannolis. Come." She headed towards the kitchen with him in her wake. Once they crossed through the warm archway, she dropped his hand and pointed him to a chair. She didn't wait to watch him sit; she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he would obey. He was a good boy. She imagined him unclasping the badge from his belt and when she looked back over her shoulder, saw he was turning it around and around in his hands, staring with tired eyes.

No one had had a chance to go shopping yesterday and her refrigerator was spare this morning. Pulling out a handful of eggs, the remainder of the milk, and a thick, chunky block of cheese, she set about making him breakfast. "Raimondo," she called out, pausing for the sullen acknowledgment. Lia wanted to ask if he was being careful, if this was the right thing to do, if he'd thought about what would happen if the other _policia_ knew. She hefted an egg, let it roll a bit in the palm of her hand. "You should tell your Lieutenant not to make you work so late. It is not right for you to be out so many nights." This was the first time she'd caught him coming in.

She cracked the eggs with quick efficient snaps against the stiff lip of the bowl and poured the milk in without a measuring cup. She owned a set of measuring cups, nice ones that Raymond had bought her years ago when he was still married, but she hadn't ever used them.

"It's fine, Ma. I can't tell Welsh-"

"Lieutenant Welsh."

She knew he was rolling his eyes at her, but she and Benton at least agreed on one thing: politeness was all-important. "I can't tell the Lieutenant my mother won't let me work nights."

Whisking the eggs sharply, Lia watched the round bulge of the wires slicing straight lines through the pale yellow liquid, and the mix slopping up against the side of the bowl. The swish and clatter soothed her. "It is not right," she murmured again. She heard Raymond sigh in the other room.

She had started to come to terms with her son's proclivities only after his father had died. She'd thought that God had wanted Enzio to help shape Ray, to make him strong, to – Heaven help her – beat the softness out of him to make him a proper, God-fearing man. But those were just excuses, thin as air and half as useful. Enzio had made toughening Raymond his mission, but Enzio failed at everything he had ever tried. And once Enzio had died, God rest his soul, she had found herself grateful for this particular failure. Lia pulled out the old cast iron pan that her mother had given her, and set it on an open flame. The dark metal was warm and worn with the years, but it still held a dull shine under the kitchen lights. She poured the egg mixture in and turned to face her son.

He had his head tilted back, his eyes closed, the badge sitting on the table in front of him. Raymond always wore that dark green shirt when he was going to go on a date; Lia had told him once it made him even more handsome. She liked his hair this way, and how healthy he looked. Not worn out and sick like before, when he'd come home late from work and always head straight for the shower. She saw Enzio in the taught line of his shoulders, the fancy cut of his slacks, but he otherwise reminded her of her own father. Her father had been tall and thin, free with emotions and always a gentleman. He'd hated Enzio. "Were you with Constable Fraser?" she asked suddenly, trying to keep the accusations out of her voice.

Raymond's head jerked forward and he stared at her with round, surprised eyes. "What?" As if a mother didn't know, she thought. Raymond always was a terrible liar.

"On your case," Lia said, feeling sorry for the fear she saw in the nervous movements of her son's hands, the sudden restless shift of his knee. "Was he helping you? He is always so helpful."

With an audible exhalation, Ray nodded and smiled at her. And if she hadn't known before, she would have just from his smile. "Yeah, Ma, he's still helping me out."

She finished cooking the eggs and grated cheese over them, watching the sharp, straight little pieces melt, filling in the nooks and crannies. Crisp, cool air crept in from under the door to the backyard. It would be another chilly day; she'd have to remember to get ingredients for hot chocolate for the grandchildren tonight. There was the thump of feet on the floor above as Lia dished the eggs onto a clean plate. She brought it over to her son, gratified to see him halfway out of his chair already to come help her. "Sit, sit," she said, ushering with a dish towel. As he did, she noticed the white fur on the back of his shirt, the excessive wrinkling in the jacket he'd slung over the chair. There was a sauce stain on his tie that had not been there yesterday morning.

Lia set the dish down in front of him and pressed her lips to his forehead. "You're a good man, Raimondo." He watched her as she pulled away, and she almost crumbled under his gentle stare. Where Enzio had broken him down, Benton had built him back up; how could Raymond think she would ever hate the man for doing what she could not? "And so is your Constable." She patted her son on the hand and watched him eat, and listened to all of the things he didn't say. 


End file.
